twenty-five-centers

Updated: May 21, 2025

The Colonel presented a handful of half-burned cigar-stubs. "No choice. They're all twenty-five-centers, assorted from a Waldorf lot." "Thanks." Humphrey took three. The Colonel, reserving one for his own use, dropped the rest into his outer pocket. And now eleven men passed, smoking, eleven unapproachables, before one dropped a burning stump.

Ruth McEnery Stuart - Moriah's Mourning and Other Half-Hour Sketches